Page 68 of Diem

Unless he moved, Frank lives in a rundown neighborhood across town and with nowhere else to go and unsure what to do about Diem’s breakdown, I park my car a block away from his double-wide and wait as fat puffy flakes of snow caress the ground around me.

He lives in a small trailer park that’s seen better decades, the area filled with broken down cars and strewn with garbage. His neighbors come and go, some calling out to each other with hand waves and crude gestures, while children in ratty clothes run around in the street, passing a ball around.

But after an hour of sitting here, there’s no sign of Frank, although I do spy a drug deal happening down the street. Probably not unusual around here, because everyone knows to mind their own business and look the other way.

Case in point, an older woman sits on her front porch watching the children play in the street, studiously ignoring the strung-out woman who turns from the car she was just leaning against. She’s clasping a baggie against her chest that may give her a few hours of pleasure now but will only lead to pain.

She’s shaking in her need as she wobbles her way toward me, and I feel a pulse of sympathy.

She can’t see past her next fix. She can’t see anything, not even the burly dude who steps in front of her with his hands clenched at his sides before he waves them around in the air.

He looks...squinting, holy shit, is that Diem? It is!

Thank fuck he can’t see me, and I slouch in my seat when he turns my way, muttering profanities because shit, that was close.

He runs his hand through his hair, and sadly, I watch when he takes her arm, and leads her down the path, past the kids, and into a trailer remarkably close to Frank’s double wide.

After, I sit frozen in my seat.

Diem’s mom lives two homes down and across the street from Frank. Why? Her trailer is no better, and in fact, I think I spy duct tape sealing the windows, and the door is barely closed because it won’t latch.

Where is Frank? And why doesn’t his mom live in the trailer with her husband?

After sitting there like a moron, I drive away, heaving a breath of air. Thank god he didn’t spot me but damn, how long has Diem been trying to save his drug addicted mom?

∞∞∞

I’m still curious about Frank the following few days but I know asking Diem will get me nowhere and my dad is off limits.

Once upon a time, Diem’s mom liked me, but I don’t remember her being a drug addict and now all I can see is the need on her face while she stared at her son with glazed eyes.

Maybe that’s why Frank stopped coming around but as the story unfolds, I’ve come to consider things I’ve never bothered to think about before. Why would my dad, who by all accounts is an upstanding guy, hang around with a man who clearly neglected his son?

Diem often came to our home dirty and hungry while the rest of us were well fed and always clean. Why didn’t Dad do anything about it?

All questions I should have asked myself long ago because maybe it would explain the boys’ brotherhood. Or maybe I’m making shit up in my head. Gah.

After school, I head over to Matt’s house, relieved to be out from the prying eyes of the entire student body. Rumors followed me from class to class and at lunch, I avoided them all by going to the library.

It’s no secret apparently that Diem kicked Jaxon’s ass but now everyone is wondering about the circumstances and I’m not about to admit what he tried to do.

“Hey,” Matt greets me at the door with a smile.

What used to be a fun way to waste time is now something I dread. With Matt’s behavior and my own reckless actions, I’ve created a mess that I don’t know how to get out of.

“Hey,” I say, waving at his mom sitting at the table with a cigarette hanging from her mouth.

She nods halfheartedly before plunking her cigarette in the ashtray. “I thought I told you to clean out the garage.”

Matt bristles and I avert my gaze. Although he doesn’t speak about his parents much, it’s easy to see that there’s strain in his home.

“I did,” he mutters, and she slams her hand on the table.

Jumping, I suppress a squeak and smile at Matt weakly when he turns to me with a weird grin.

After we escape down the stairs to the basement, I shift uneasily when he says, “Okay cheesy vampires or gory zombies.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask about what just happened but Matt’s smile does nothing to hide the darkness behind his eyes and instead, I say, “You pick.”

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